


we were just kids when

by shadeandadidas



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, a life defining question, eleven isn't in the fic but talked about, fluff and complete nonsense, this is just a little fluff piece about mike asking hopper an important question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 07:36:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeandadidas/pseuds/shadeandadidas
Summary: Hopper arches a brow, giving Mike a once over. He sucks in another puff of his cigarette, before stubbing it out and scratching his nose, “Elle’s not here. She and Red went out to go see a movie about an hour ago.”“Yeah. Uh- she mentioned that. Edward Scissorhands, I think. That’s what she said, at least.” Mike scratches the back of his head, trying like hell not to show weakness and avoid Hopper’s eyes like the plague.He stops, because maybe he should avoid his eyes? Dustin is always going on about dominance in animals- maybe it would go over better if Mike lets Hopper retain control of the situation. Or maybe Hopper would see Mike as a pussy and never let him-Mike clears his throat and doesn’t break their locked gaze, “I’m actually here because I wanted to talk to you.”





	we were just kids when

**Author's Note:**

> Second Season is done and what can I say? I absolutely loved Mike and Eleven as per usual and I loved Hopper and Eleven's relationship as well.
> 
> So I thought, let's put them all together and see what happens.

Mike Wheeler would be the first one to admit that he’s lived a pretty extraordinary life.

He’s battled monsters of mythic proportions _multiple_ times and won. He’s taken on human experimentation and the United States government and come out unscathed. He’s been shot at, cursed at, threatened; he’s watched his friends be shoved and punched and kicked and possessed by alien spider creatures- all by the age of thirteen.

Mike Wheeler has lived an extraordinary, terrifying life. But nothing, _nothing,_ has prepared him for this moment right here.

Right here.

He just has to get out of the car first.

Mike swallows and slowly turns the key in the ignition until the comforting hum of the engine quiets and stills. It’s dark, but somewhere in between demogorgons and parasites, he’s long since gotten over his fear of things that live in the dark.

“Right at the oak tree,” he mumbles, checking the collar of his white shirt for specks of dirt in the rear view mirror. “Park at the end of the road and walk about five minutes.”

It’s routine at this point, mouthing the directions he’d learned as a kid and followed a thousand times over the next six years, but he still forms the words at the tip of his tongue and commits them again to memory. _Right at the oak tree, dead end, walk five minutes and she’s there._

He stumbles out of the car and starts walking until he can see the porch light.

The little log cabin hidden away in the woods hasn’t changed all that much since the Sheriff and El moved in permanently. It’s gotten new windows, and Mike thinks Joyce Byers assisted with painting the outside, but for the most part, the house still stands there just as it was when El first dragged him there years ago, so excited for him to see her new, permanent _home._

Mike gives himself a sharp nod and stomps up the creaky wooden steps, “You got this, Wheeler. This is nothing.”

(It’s not nothing, Mike feels like he’s about to _explode_.)

The static hum of the television coming from inside the house pauses abruptly and Mike just about turns around to head straight back to his car. _He can do this another time,_ he thinks. Maybe in the daylight with Will and Dustin and Lucas as backups. It’s late anyway and he’d only be disturbing-

The door swings open and Mike’s window of fleeing time disappears and any desire to run from the situation withers and dies along with it.

Right here.

“Mike.” The Sheriff leans in the doorway, lit cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He pulls it out and blows smoke off to the side until it disappears into the darkness. Though he’s started graying more noticeably in the last few years, Sherriff Hopper hasn’t lost any of his threatening swagger. If anything, Mike stands taller now more than ever at the sight of one of his childhood heroes.

“Hopper,” Mike could smack himself, because, _didn’t his mother teach him manners_? So what if he’s never used them before? “I mean, Sherriff. Sir.”

Hopper arches a brow, giving Mike a once over. He sucks in another puff of his cigarette, before stubbing it out and scratching his nose, “El’s not here. She and Red went out to go see a movie about an hour ago.”

Mike knows this. He knows it because he was the one to suggest El take Max out for a girl’s night. Though the two had not started out on the best of terms, and El could still be wary of the only other girl in their group occasionally, they’ve become good friends. Great friends even. And the same could be said for Max and himself.

He returns to the matter at hand.

“Yeah. I, uh- she mentioned that. _Edward Scissorhands_ , I think. That’s what she said, at least.” Mike scratches the back of his head, trying like hell not to avoid Hopper’s eyes like the plague.  

He stops, because maybe he _should_ avoid his eyes? Dustin is always going on about dominance in animals- maybe it would go over better if Mike lets Hopper retain control of the situation. Or maybe Hopper would see Mike as a pussy and never let him-

Mike clears his throat and doesn’t break their locked gaze, “I’m actually here because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Little ol’ me?” Hopper doesn’t blink, and _fuck him_ , Mike remembers again why he was terrified of the sheriff as a kid. Hopper motions Mike through the door and shuts it when their both inside. Mike takes a seat on the couch. “Scotch?”

Hopper pours himself a glass and hold up and empty one in question.

Mike blinks, “Um- I don’t- no. Of course not. I’m... not twenty-one.”

Hopper hums like that was a test Mike had passed. And who knows, maybe it was- the man was fucking weird.

“What can I do for you, then?”

Okay. This was it.

This was fucking it and Mike had spent half an hour in his room jumping up and down, pulling every ounce of energy and courage he could for this moment right here. To just… put it all out on the line in front of Hopper. The best parts of him, ready and waiting to be judged by the man.

He glances up and hanging on the far wall, in a well-worn brown picture frame, is a picture of El and Hopper standing in front of the Statue of Liberty. It was probably taken last year, when the two had gone on vacation for a week to Manhattan for Hopper’s 55th birthday. The usually gruff man was grinning, but Mike couldn’t help but ignore him in favor of _her_.

Dark hair twisted up in a blue foam Liberty crown, messy due to the wind by the water; a curled strand caught in her eyelashes… she was beaming and radiating sunshine and she was _so_ beautiful and _this_ was why he was here. For her.

For El.

“I love her,” Mike said, still staring at the picture on the wall. Hopper makes an impatient sound, so Mike tears his gaze away and plants it back on the man in front of him. “El, I mean. I love El.”

“I know you do, Kid.”

Mike nods, “Awesome. I thinks she is the most amazing person in the world. And I think- if you love someone, you have to consider whether you’d want to spend, you know, the rest of your life with them, right?”

“Oh boy,” Hopper pours himself another finger of Scotch and slugs it and now Mike is kind of wishing he had something like that to take the edge off of his anxiety. He wonders if it would be in bad taste to ask for a sip. Hopper motions him on, “Continue.”

“I do want to spend my life with her, Sheriff. And you’re the closest thing she has to a real father and she loves you. So I wanted to ask, for... permission.”

“Permission.” Hopper sighs, “Kid, how old are you?”

Mike bristles, because why the _fuck_ should that matter?

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen,” Hopper repeats, dragging a hand through his hair, “Practically a baby.”

“A _baby_ ?” He clenches his fist. “I’ve done more things in my life as a teenager than most people do _ever_.”

“Yeah, but you and El are still so young.”

“I’ve loved her since I was thirteen years old.” Mike shakes his head, “Thirteen. That’s six _years_. I’ve loved her for six years and I think she’s loved me for about that long. That’s longer than you knew your first wife.”

Hopper tipped his drink, like Mike was illustrating his point, “See how well that one turned out?”

“We are not you.”

“No you’re not.” Neither Hopper nor Mike spoke for several seconds. Mike finally gave in and snaked a bit of Scotch from Hopper’s glass. The sheriff watched him do so, levelly, unblinking as he continued to search him, trace his every movement with dark eyes. Mike could practically see his mind whirring and _moving_ and cranking and like, he knows the gravity of what he’s asking. He knows that he and El are young.

But he thinks back to his friends. Their high school fancies and ‘loves’ that never passed a summer. And he knows he and El are _different_. Not just because of their experiences, or because El is special, but because Mike has been through hell and back and the only thing that has ever kept him sane was the thought of El being out there somewhere.

“I love her, too,” Hopper finally says, “She’s my kid. Blood or not, she’s my kid. And no one is good enough for her.”

Mike hangs his head and slumps, because, yeah, that part is true at least. No one is good enough for El. He could be a superhero and never come close to touching the light that shines brightly in her. Mike startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Hopper’s eyes are serious; glinting in the firelight. “But you come pretty damn close.”

Mike’s mouth opens slightly, just enough for a tiny gasp of breath to slip through. When Hopper rolls his eyes, he snaps shut and stands, “What does that mean?”

“It means I know you’d do anything for her. And if I had to choose someone to keep an eye out for her that wasn’t me…”

Hopper doesn’t finish, but Mike gets the sentiment. “So you’re saying that you- that you’re fine with-”

“I’m saying that you have my blessing to ask.” Hopper steals back his Scotch and drinks the rest, “It’s her choice. But between you and me, she chose you a long time ago. I don’t think you’ll have an issue.”

“That’s. That’s good. Awesome. Thank you so much, Sir.”

“Mike Wheeler, call me sir again and I’ll take it all back, you little shithead.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Even though it was super short, i have to say I'm like "alright not bad" with it.
> 
> Onto my next project: capitalizing on that subtext with Steve and Billy.


End file.
